


Domesticity

by psylocke



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 09:56:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psylocke/pseuds/psylocke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[AU] Tony and Steve are married, but not happily -- a congressional campaign has torn a splinter in the relationship, and Steve's at a loss for how to fix it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Almost immediately upon hearing his phone ring, Tony Stark knew what to expect. He dreaded this phone call — the same time every week, the same conversation to follow. For a split second, he considered not picking up and letting it ring, maybe go to voicemail, pretend like the whole thing wasn’t a big deal.

But ignoring conflict was hardly his speciality.

“Steve,” he said, voice rather hoarse. He cleared his throat, covering his mouth with his knuckles to block the sound through the receiver. “What’s up?”

Three, two… 

“I’m running late tonight.” The voice sounded almost apologetic, it always did, but Tony knew better than fall for the cloying sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

The briefest of lulls in the conversation separated them. “It’s a Friday. You know what Friday’s—” 

“I _know_ ,” Steve cut him off, sighing, the softness of the voice replaced by some indignation. “We had a last minute budget meeting, we need to sort out all the campaign expenses in time for the—” 

It was Tony’s turn to interrupt. “It’s fine, Steve. Honestly.” There was bitterness in his voice, a force of habit after being stood up for the seventh week in a row. “Hank and Jan are already on their way over. I’ll have to tell them date night’s cancelled.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he protested weakly. It was then that Tony picked up on the tiredness in his voice, how frail it was compared to its usual tenor. “Why don’t you invite what’s-his-name? The guy from the office. Bruce?”

Shutting his eyes, Tony allowed the words to sink in. “Something tells me my _coworker_ isn’t going to be the best teammate for the Newlywed Game.”

“What about Carol? Or—Pepper?”

“My secretary? Really? You want me to replace you with my secretary?”

“Only for tonight.” Steve hesitated. “And we both know Pepper’s more than just your secretary. You’d be dead twice over if it wasn’t for her. It’d be nice of you to invite her out once in a while.”

“Don’t—don’t ‘o _nly for tonight’_ me, Steve,” Tony said, completely losing his cool for a moment. He was forced to pull the phone away from his mouth, covering it as he cursed himself out six ways to Sunday. When he trusted himself to speak again, he sounded more sombre. “It’s not the same without you.”

“I know,” Steve responded. “This is the last time. I promise.”

“You said that last week. And every week since March.”

“This time I mean it.”

“Since we’re being honest,” Tony said, immediately biting his lip to stop himself, but he knew better than to censor his thoughts, because Steve _would_ press the issue and it _would_ only get worse for him. “Right now, your word doesn’t mean all that much to me. I’m thinking of voting for the other guy. Maybe he’ll keep his promises.”

“Tony—” 

He inhaled softly, staring at his lap. “I’ll call Hank and reschedule.”

“ _Tony—_ ”  

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“I love you.”

 

#

 

It was hard for Steve Rogers to admit that he was being a piece of shit, but that was the only way to describe himself in that moment. When Tony had hung up on him, It stung worse than a magazine of bullets square to the chest at point blank range. It felt like his world, this life he had so carefully constructed, was about to topple over to the ground. 

This wasn’t part of the plan — none of it was. He had never considered going into politics, but his involvement in the community had spread so suddenly that almost overnight he’d become a local media firestorm, a sought-after celebrity in his own right. They called him Captain America and, soon enough, he was making the late night talk show circuit. As his celebrity status escalated virally, he was approached by a public relations firm suggesting he run for governor. Not just that — the state’s first openly gay governor. 

His campaign would never run out of steam, but funds were another matter entirely. With donation caps and spending increases, they’d found themselves scraping by the final months of the electoral race, and that meant added work, added stress on him and his team. Steve had done everything in his power to keep Tony out of the heat of the oven, but that had apparently only served to work against him. 

Steve knew his marriage was crumbling around him, and he had no idea how to pick up the individual crumbs to piece it all back together again.

He barely paid any attention to the meeting, zoning in and out of the conversations. There enough to answer what few questions he was asked with some semblance of coherence, but much of it was spent trying to think of a way to impress Tony. To woo him again, just like he’d done when they first started dating. It felt like a lifetime ago, now, their college days long behind them. 

The meeting wrapped at ten — earlier than usual, actually, but still five hours later than he should have been leaving the office. He just wanted some way to make it up to his husband. The hole he’d dug was deeper than just a dozen roses or a romantic dinner could hoist him out of. He’d been told marriage would be hard, something he needed to work towards, but he’d never realized just how hard they meant.

#

 

It was just after eleven when Steve got home, the town car dropping him off at the end of the driveway. The porch light was on, but everything inside had been shut off — Tony’d probably called it a night early. He walked to the door, turning his key and letting himself in, thinking better of calling out and announcing his presence.

Instead, he went right for the bedroom, leaving his briefcase and things at the door, bringing just himself. His tired, world-weary self. Sure enough, the door was nearly closed and the light was off. He kept it that way as he slinked in, stripping off his clothes as he approached the bed, climbing into It completely naked.

Tony slept turned away from Steve, but he flipped over as he felt the change in mattress weight. “How was it?” he asked, voice heavy and groggy with sleep.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he whispered back, leaning in to kiss his husband. Their lips met, but there was no passion there, no fire consuming them in its thralls. “I just want to see you. I miss you.”

“Well, we had a date tonight,” Tony reminded him, rolling over onto his back. Steve chased him, leaning in and laying another kiss on his lips, which was returned with little gusto. 

“I already apologized—” Steve began, but knew immediately he was going to be cut off.

Sure enough, he was. “I don’t want to hear it, Steve,” Tony snapped, voice growing imperceptibly louder, still no more than a tired whisper. “I get it, you’re busy. Too busy to spend time with me. _I get it_.” 

“It’s not like that,” he argued, careful to keep his voice level. He didn’t want to turn this into a fight. “You know it’s not like that. I don’t like spending all of this time campaigning. I just want to come home to you, and to see you, and ask you how your day was, without having you turn on me at the drop of a hat.”

“You think this is me _turning_ on you?” Tony asked in disbelief.

His voice came out childlike and bruised. “You told me you wanted to vote for the other guy.” He cleared his throat, rolling over onto his back, now the both of them staring up at the black ceiling above them. “Are you still in love with me?”

A long silence divided them. “I don’t know,” he replied finally.

“I still love you.”

“I know you do.”

“And I’m trying. To make this work, I’m _trying_.”

“I know you are.”

“Then why don’t you know?”

Tony went quiet again. “I just don’t know, Steve.”

“You know everything,” Steve answered after a moment’s pause. “You’re the smartest man I know.”

“I was stupid enough to let you run for office.”

Steve glanced over, frowning slightly. His hand reached out, curling around Tony’s fingers, lacing them together. “I didn’t do it because you asked me to.”

“I know you didn’t,” Tony said, lingering in silence as he turned over his hand to take Steve’s in his. “I want you to drop out of the race.”

“I can’t do that.”

“…I know you can’t.” He could hear every nuance of defeat in his husband’s voice, and that broke Steve’s heart. “But it was worth a try. Thought maybe I’d be more important than some government job.”

Steve closed his eyes. “It is. It’s a thousand times more important, but, Tony—I  have to do this.”

“I know you do.”

“And you’ll support me?”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

“I’m giving it my all, Steve. It’s killing me. It’s killing whatever feelings I’ve got for you.” 

Their bodies subconsciously moved closer together. Tony rolled away, but inched back to let Steve’s long, muscular arm wrap around his stomach, hugging them together. Steve pressed his lips to the bare shoulder before him, feeling ready to cry but holding it back. He had to be strong, for both of their sakes. “Are you thinking of leaving?” he asked, voicing the question he’d been hoping to ignore.

Tony’s silence was all the answer he needed, and they remained quiet long enough for Steve to assume his husband had fallen asleep in his arms. He squeezed the man closer, curling against him, forehead pressed against his back, staring at the dark space separating them. “I love you so much,” Steve whispered to his softly snoring husband. “I’m never letting you go.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was meant to just be a one-shot, a quickie that I wrote when I had a bit of inspiration and an idea for a scene, but the reception on this has been so unexpectedly lovely that I gave it some additional brain space and, while I'm not promising anything incredibly long and detailed, I've had a couple more ideas jotted down and I'm hoping to fully realize this story to its potential. So, please -- keep reading! I'm glad you like it.

By the time Tony Stark woke up in the morning, Steve was already gone. It took him longer than usual to adjust to his surroundings — the bedroom still pitch dark, the only two light sources the window and the digital clock on his bedside table. He cracked open one eye, letting it focus in on the time: 6:58. Two minutes before his alarm was set to go off. 

He rolled over to fill the space left by his husband, stretching his arms out along the whole length of the mattress, squeezing his eyes shut yet again. He wasn’t ready to face the day. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to face the day. Thirty seconds in and he already knew it was destined to be a bad one.

Thinking about the conversation he’d had last night, however groggy and out of it he was, made him feel sick to his stomach. Only bits and pieces stuck out in his brain, fragmented in his mind, intermixed with bits of dreams and nightmares he’d had after falling back asleep. It was a rough night for the both of them, tossing and turning, moaning and snoring. The only constant had been Steve’s strong, sturdy arm anchoring him in the blankets, and it gave him a strong feeling of comfort. 

It was too good to last. Tony had woken up when he felt the sag in the mattress spring back up, waiting silently, breathing slowly, for Steve to leave. A cursory glance at the clock had said he’d left just after four-thirty. Early, even for him. There was a good chance he didn’t feel comfortable, just as Tony hadn’t. 

None of that should have been said — none of it had needed to be said. Steve deserved so much better than to be told any of that. Of course he loved Steve. He’d never once stopped loving Steve. It had gotten to the point where Tony’s dependence on his husband was so whole that when he said ‘I couldn’t live without you’, he’d deluded himself into genuinely believing it. 

That’s why it stung so much, seeing them drift apart. 

And he knew he was part of the problem, but there was no adequate solution to it. They wanted different things. Needed different things. The honeymoon was over, and they’d settled into their roles. None of this had happened when Tony’s work had swamped him. The CEO of a successful company, Steve had been something of a trophy husband for the first few months. The smart, charming, beautiful eye-candy to one of New York’s most powerful people. 

Then suddenly the dynamic had shifted, and Tony had become the arm piece to his husband’s political career, more of a distraction than a valuable contribution to the cause. He’d tried, he really had, to make a positive impression on Steve’s political leanings, but he’d only managed to complicate things. He’d gotten in the way. From then on, he’d chosen to take the backseat for the campaign. They hired the best of the best to handle Steve’s image, and Tony had to watch from the sidelines, growing ever more bitter and resentful as time went on.

Half an hour passed before Tony could actively force himself out of the bed. He didn’t want any of this. He wanted things to go back to normal, back to when he was happy.

He tripped on a stray sock, face nearly planting into the ground before he caught himself on the side of the dresser. He threw on a pair of boxer shorts and a loose fitting grey t-shirt, not bothering stepping into the bathroom to shower, or to do his hair, or to brush his teeth. He had half a mind to call in sick to work, or at least go in a couple of hours late. Pepper was better at handling the business anyway.

Stepping out into the hallway, he entered the connecting door into the kitchen. Empty, dark, but smelling of coffee — Steve had put on a pot for him before going out, even thinking that made the smallest of smiles pull on Tony’s lips. He took quick strides towards the coffee machine, noticing a folded piece of paper attached to the display:

_Tony — I know my word means nothing right now. I know I’ve screwed everything up. But I also know you always forget to set the timer on the coffee maker, so I hope I did this right, and that your first pot of the day will be waiting for you when you read this.  I’m also going to make it up to you. All of it. I don’t know how, but I’m going to find a way. Because every time the thought of me losing you crosses my mind, it kills me a little bit more each day._

_I love you. I love you so much. Please don’t forget that. — S._

A stubborn tear fell onto the thin piece of manila paper, and Tony had to pull himself away from the counter, away from the note, before he embarrassed himself. Even alone in his kitchen, with the weight of his world balanced precariously on his shoulders, he wouldn’t allow himself to cry. He wiped away the stinging from his eyes with the back of his wrist, immediately charging back into the bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom. 

At least in the shower he could pretend it was water from the faucet.

 

#

 

It had to work. It _had_ to. It wouldn’t be enough, Steve knew, to repair every last fraying piece of the string that tethered him to Tony, but it had to be able to secure the line just long enough for him to figure out a way to atone for everything. In a perfect world, he’d have enough time: the three weeks needed to finish up the remainder of the campaign. But this wasn’t a perfect world, and things never went exactly as he planned them to.

He’d learned that the hard way, now hadn’t he?

“Steve, you hearin’ me?” 

The campaign advisor’s patience had been a godsend. Most people wouldn’t put up with the daydreaming, but he saw something in Steve that transcended his status as a space cadet, at least over the past few weeks. He snapped to attention, turning his head slightly, blinking off the glazed look that had covered his eyes. “Yep,” he said slowly, deliberately. “You want to extend our presence upstate, try and swing some of the more affluent voters in Westchester.” 

“Right — and we figure the best way to do that…”

Steve cut him off, eager to show he had been paying attention, even if it wasn’t evident, and even if his mind was divided on the subject. “You want Tony and I to throw a get-together for the socialites. Yeah, I heard you.”

The man pursed his lips. “Everything alright, Cap?”

“It’ll sort itself out, James. Always does.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Mind’s just preoccupied today. Think we could call it early? Go home to our families? Isn’t it Natasha’s birthday this weekend?”

James smiled. “Nice of you to remember.”

“Mind like an elephant,” Steve explained, tapping his temple. “I never forget anything. Tony says I’d be good on Jeopardy. I’ve always figured myself more of a Wheel of Fortune sort of guy.”

The smile shifted slightly, as if tempted to remain, but some backing doubt forced it down. “Everything alright with the two of you? You sounded tense on the phone last night.” He paused. “This is me asking as a friend, Steve. Not as your advisor. No more campaign talk for today.”

“Like I said,” he responded after a brief hesitation. “It’ll all work out in the end. Rough patches are just a part of the journey.”

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

Steve smiled. “Yeah. I know.”

 

#

 

“Are you gonna leave him?”

The question lingered heavily in the air, far longer than it should have. On any other day, it would have been a cut-and-dry yes or no question, but today it sounded like an open-ended essay question, the one you left blank on your SATs because you ran out of time and the wording was too vague to formulate a coherent thought.

Tony’s eyes lay on his reflection in the cup of coffee, staring back up at himself as if hoping his doppelganger would have the answer. “I don’t want to.”

“But you think you should?”

“I never said that,” he shot back, looking up at his companion. “But I feel like maybe it’s for the best. We— _I—_ I haven’t been happy in months.”

“Speaking as your best friend… I’ve noticed.”

Maybe in another world he could have laughed at the comment, but it only weighed heavily on his soul. Had it been that obvious? Tony Stark wasn’t the type to talk about his feelings. Even to Steve, their conversations had become more intense the past few weeks, but before that they barely spoke about serious matters. They both had an eagerness to please and, for the most part, that kept the place conflict-free. “What should I do, Carol?” 

She sighed, holding both hands snug against the ceramic mug in front of her. “It’s my job to sit here and tell you every little thing about Steve that’s wrong, and convince you that moving on and being a strong, independent woman is what you need to do, but—” She smiled, and it didn’t seem horribly forced. Just sad. “This is _Steve_ , Tony. He’s… he’s something else.”

Tony swallowed in a bid to rid himself of the knot forming in his throat. “Tell me about it.”

“He’s seen you through some rough shit,” she reminded him, voice soft as she rose the coffee to her lips and took a long drink. “He’s stuck by you. Through everything. Thick and thin. Sickness and health.”

“But I don’t know if I love him anymore.” The words sounded as horrible now as they had the night before. Tony didn’t even fully believe them. He loved Steve, he knew he did, but there was a fine line between loving somebody and still being in love with them. Whenever he tried to make the distinction, it gave him a migraine the size of Rhode Island. “It’s just not the same anymore.”

“That’s the beauty of it, Tony,” Carol said with the limpest of shrugs. “Life never throws you the same curveballs twice. You’ve just gotta roll with the punches.”

“I’m trying,” he admitted, still staring down at his reflection, unable to keep his eyes on Carol longer than a couple of seconds.

She kept his gaze on him, though, studying him, trying to make sure he was okay without overstepping her boundaries. She offered him a small, comforting smile, and reached a hand out across the kitchen bar to rest over his knuckles, gripping tightly to his mug. “You never were good with change,” she told him quietly, and it pained Tony to admit just how true those words were.


	3. Chapter 3

For the first time in what felt like months, Steve’s meetings ran short. It was a Saturday, which usually was the slowest day — most people didn’t like to be bothered on their days off, and the bulk of campaigning was done during the week — but even still, it had a bad habit of going longer than it was supposed to. Especially considering the debate they had the next day, Steve was surprised when he was given leave before the sun had set.

“You know what you’re doing,” James had insisted, patting him comfortingly on the shoulder. “Why don’t you head home and surprise Tony with dinner?”

The trouble with being married to the CEO of a successful company meant that weekends blurred together with the week, and there really was no day of rest unless it was scheduled two months in advance. Tony did have some leeway, less so than Steve did, as to how his schedule fell. He was surrounded by competent people who could do his job twice as well as he could, and the company moved like a well-oiled machine even when he didn’t come in for days at a time. But he was a perfectionist, and overbearing, and borderline obsessive-compulsive. Tony taking a day off was about as rare as a unicorn. 

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to surprise him. 

It was something of a race, some half an hour before Tony typically left the office for the night, and the Stark Industries building was halfway across town. Steve’s driver knew all the shortcuts and how to avoid all the tourist traps, but this was New York City on a Saturday. He was pulling miracles out of his ass just to book it there.

By some grace of god, they made it with five minutes to spare, and a rushing Steve was forced to pull out his cell phone to call Tony’s secretary, personal assistant, and general life saver Pepper Potts to make sure he wasn’t about to miss him. “Hi—can you stall Tony? Don’t let him leave. Please.”

“Hi, Steve,” she said, her voice calm as ever. “He was just getting ready to leave. I was _going_ to tell him about the Advanced Idea Mechanics merger tomorrow, but… I guess now is as good a time as any.” They shared a brief farewell and he booked it onto the elevator, listening to the grating sound of the lift music, tapping his foot impatiently to the tune of Jolene.

He turned around to examine himself in the mirror backing of the elevator, smoothing out his hair and straightening the collar of his suit and jacket. The panel dinged, signifying he’d reached the penthouse suite of the building, and he spun around before the door could open and anybody could catch him checking himself out. 

Striding through the threshold, he entered his husband’s immaculately kept — through no help of his own — office. There, at the end of the room, Tony was engaged in a conversation with Pepper, but glanced up to see who the intrusion was. Pepper turned her head as well, smiling faintly. “Good evening, Mister Rogers,” she said politely. “Tony, I’ll give you the full briefing on Monday.”

“Thanks, Pepper,” he said, eyes landing warily on the visitor. With graceful poise, the saviour of Stark Industries exited through the elevator, leaving Tony alone with his husband, neither of them speaking, but Steve kept taking small steps forward.

“Hi,” he finally said, firming his jawline and swallowing heavily. 

“Hey.” Tony leaned in, reaching for a half-empty coffee mug and drinking it back. “Did you sneak out of your own press conference or something?” 

“We called it a day,” Steve said, debating grabbing a chair and sitting across the desk, but something about that felt too stuffy and formal. Instead, he traipsed around the gargantuan desk. Tony didn’t seem inclined to stand up, forcing Steve to simply squeeze his shoulder instead of offering him a hug. “And I was wondering if you wanted to go grab some dinner? I haven’t eaten all day.”

Tony contemplated it for a moment. “I’m kind of busy,” he admitted, swivelling in his seat to face his husband, frowning. 

“Please?” It wasn’t quite begging, but the closest Steve would get to it.

“Advanced Idea Mechanics is proposing a merger with Greymalkin Corporation. You don’t understand the world of hurt I’m in if I just sit by and let that deal go through under my nose,” Tony argued, trying to sound more invested than Steve knew he was. He could hear the weariness in his voice, and see the bags under his eyes. He must have slept poorly, too. 

Steve crouched down, placing a hand on the arm of Tony’s chair. “Tony, please? I’m trying.” 

He closed his eyes, sighing, his head pressing back against the cushioning of the chair. “I know you’re trying, Steve — I’m trying, too. But coming to my office with no warning, expecting to whisk me off to dinner… and for what? You think going for pizza is going to fix everything?”

“I’m not trying to fix everything,” Steve shot back, louder than he would have liked, leaving a strong sense of finality. “I’m trying to fix _us_.” 

“That’s the problem. You’re my everything.”


	4. Chapter 4

He’d sent Steve off alone, even though Tony immediately regretted doing it. As soon as the elevator doors shut behind his thunderstruck husband, he considered racing down the emergency stairwell to catch him at the entrance, but he legs refused to move. Once enough time had been allotted for Steve to get back into his car, and to have driven to the nearest bridge and jumped off of it, Tony contemplated calling his cell — apologizing, as much as he could under the circumstances, and telling him just how badly he wanted to go to dinner, how much he wanted to act as if nothing was wrong and pretend at being normal again. 

It wasn’t that easy, though. It was never that easy. Not for people like them.

Instead of being responsible, or being the bigger person, or begging for forgiveness from the only man who had ever loved him so unconditionally, Tony didn’t move for three hours. Equipped with only the dregs of his most recent coffee, brewed solidly just after twelve noon, he waited out the tail-end of the afternoon and the sunset without so much as cracking his knuckles. 

His eyes stared at one spot in particular: on his desk, tucked away in the corner behind a neatly laid (thanks to Pepper) pile of outgoing papers, sat on top of a book he’d started reading god knows how long ago but had given up on, was his wedding photo with Steve. Not some hokey, posed shot in front of a tree, but the shot of the kiss itself, caught by the photographer, that moment of pure bliss. The depth of field rendered most of the foreground out of focus, blurring a straight line down to just above the centre of the frame, where their two bodies met, connected not just in a physical realm, but at that precise second in time, both mentally and spiritually as well. They had become one entity, a being constructed of love, trust, and understanding.

That picture was his favourite, it always had been, even if Steve thought it was hard to make them out in the sea of brown. Looking at it allowed him to lose himself in memories, and lately, that’s all his love life seemed to be. 

 

#

 

Steve didn’t drink. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in the fifteen he’d been with Tony, and even before then it had been little more than a glass of red wine when visiting family, or out to dinner, or at some ritzy event. Even at their wedding reception, they’d abstained the champagne in favour of sparkling water with a bit of cayenne pepper in it (Tony had been on a dieting fuss in the lead-up to the big day, and Steve didn’t have the heart to tell him it was okay to splurge on Sprite). Even when things got tough, bleak, and dark, he didn’t reach for the bottle. Yet he always tried to find solace in the din of a bar.

Maybe tonight was different — maybe it was because this wasn’t just any bad day he was having, not a ruffle in the perfect fabric of his life, a frayed edge in his happy marriage that could be smoothed out in a couple days. No, this was what rock bottom felt like.

It was cold. And it was lonely. And it was slowly killing him. 

“Another. Please.” He waved his fingers at the bartender, who had his attention split between five different interested parties, all of them clamouring for a drink. Steve was in no rush, though, and kept himself at arm’s length. Patience and kindness had served him well in life up to now, he saw not point in changing that, even with more vodka tonics than he could count on one hand settling in his otherwise empty stomach. As it happened, his was the first drink to be made, and immediately upon receiving it, Steve took a small sip off the top. 

Every part of him knew just how stupid this was, how it wasn’t about to solve anything for him. It was — according to his phone, placed on the bar in front of him, not allowed to go dark for a minute without him automatically, and fully paranoid, check for messages despite it not vibrating or flashing with new information — just shy of nine o’clock. He figured Tony had left the office several hours before, probably went home, had a shower, cooked himself a box of pasta, and settled in for the night.

He wondered if Tony was thinking about him right then. 

Probably not, he reasoned. Tony was probably doing his best to forget what he happened that night, relegating the thought to the very back of his mind, mingled with the demons he kept at bay. It wasn’t anything Steve was fond to remember, either, but he couldn’t stop replaying it over and over in his head.

It had gotten to the point where, if he wanted to, he could have reenacted the whole thing without any sort of error, verbatim and in costume. He had been able to pinpoint the exact moment he’d had his heart broken, and any illusion of future happiness had been shattered. He left Stark Tower a broken man, a bruised man, one that would not easily recover from the sting he was feeling. 

All this time he’d spent demonizing himself — Steve knew he had been the villain, the dragon threatening to tear apart their foundations, the cause of all headaches and discord. But Tony was just as much to blame. Tony, with his need to control every intimate detail of his life, down to the last dotted I and crossed T. Tony, whose resolve was so strong it was matched only by his pigheadedness and aversion to change. Tony, who could do no wrong. Saint Anthony the Great.

The vodka had turned him toxic, but he finished off the glass regardless. It was a downtown hotel bar on a Saturday night — drinks were expensive and happiness was at a premium. 

 

#

 

“You good to drive, man?” the bouncer asked after he had paid off his tab and exited the bar. 

Steve looked over, nodding more to himself than to the stranger. “Yup. Got a driver.” 

Three botched phone call attempts, one operator transfer, and ten minutes later, Steve fell into the back seat of his town car, struggling to fasten his seatbelt as his driver brought him from the downtown Manhattan public house to the uptown private residence. The drive was slow, at least until they left the core, and more than once Steve dozed off in the back.

His final wake-up call came as a tap on the window, sometime after ten, when the car had been pulled into the side of the street for five minutes before the driver realized nobody had gotten out yet. He woke with a start, stumbling his way from the sidewalk to the front door and into the elevator, trying not to be sick as he rode it up to the penthouse. 

The door swung open behind him, and he swivelled in place, staggering into the room. His intention was to be as quiet as possible, a trail mapped out in his mind to make it from the entrance to the bedroom without disturbing anything. Then he thought better of even going to the bedroom, knowing he’d wake Tony up, and maybe he didn’t want to have that fight tonight. He could preemptively sleep on the couch — that’s what people on television did, right? They got dramatically kicked to the couch during a relationship-altering fight.

Of course, he’d only prepared himself for the stretch of floor to the bedroom, and the living room was on the other side of the kitchen. He gripped close to the countertop, the tiled floors not the ideal surface for him to be sliding along. To his surprise, he made it across, stepping around the corner into the living room. 

A faint blue glow signified the television was still on, but maybe the satellite box had been turned off. Steve flipped the switch to be able to see where he was going, the darkened room suddenly illuminated. His eyes settled on the couch tucked against the wall — Tony’s softly snoring body stirred, tossing onto his back, his eyes squeezing shut to block out the light.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. What was he doing on the couch? 

“…Steve?” 

“Hi.” Most of him was hoping Tony would just stay in place, maybe fall back asleep, and he took a cursory step back into the kitchen. “Just wanted to make… make sure you were home.” His tongue dragged over his bottom lip. “I’m going t’bed.”

“I was staying up… thought maybe we could talk?” Maybe it was the sleep in his voice, but he sounded sorry and guilty. 

That only made Steve feel worse, and he took another step back, missing his footing and nearly slipping on the linoleum. He tried to pass it off as intention. Tony lurched up, some instinctive gesture to try and grab him despite being twenty feet apart. “Maybe tomorrow?” he offered, righting himself. “I’m beat.” 

“Where’d you go? I was… worried about you. I thought you’d come right home,” he said, standing up a little bit shakily, but he managed. As he moved closer, Steve moved back again, turning into the kitchen and opening the fridge, trying to find something to get rid of the taste in his mouth — he was positive he smelled of alcohol. “Well?” Tony’s voice came closer.

Steve pulled out a carton of orange juice, drinking straight from the carton. He usually grilled Tony for doing that, but he didn’t care so much right now. His fingers nearly slipped on the box, but he managed to replace it. He straightened and closed the door, turning his head over. “I went to see Bucky,” he lied through his teeth, and he knew that it didn’t work — he was a horrible liar. His voice changed ever so slightly, but apparently noticeable enough for Tony to catch on to every single time, no matter how innocent or harmless it was.

His husband inhaled through his nose, sniffing the air, and moved closer in quick strides. Steve tried to back up, but Tony caught his arm and pulled them together. “Are you _drunk_?” he accused, incredulous. Steve could only stammer out an answer, he knew he was in hot water now. This was the unforgivable sin — he knew Tony had been able to find a reason to stay despite everything, there was no other explanation for him sticking around, but this? “What the _fuck_ , Steve!”

He was really in the doghouse now.

“…I’m sorry.”


	5. Chapter 5

Tony couldn’t even begin to formulate words — his mouth hung open, lips parted a fraction of an inch, his entire face contorted in some silent fury, disgust, and disappointment. His hand remained firmly on Steve’s sleeve, not letting him run, despite Tony not wanting to see the man’s face just then. The fingers curled more tightly around the shirt, knuckles turning white.

He let out a breath that caught in his throat, sound escaping as a whimper. 

“Tony, I—I’m _sorry_.”

He shook his head, closing his eyes, letting out a sigh. “No. No, you’re not sorry.” He was speaking so quietly that he couldn’t even hear himself over the hum of the refrigerator, and the ambient kitchen sounds around them. “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have come home tonight.”

“What?” Steve leaned in, trying to hear him. 

His eyes opened again, raising his voice, practically yelling, knowing full well the woman downstairs could probably hear him and would complain about it in the morning. “If you felt _bad_ , you wouldn’t have shown your fucking face!” 

He did something then he wasn’t entirely proud of. His hand released Steve’s arm, letting it fall slightly, but his own raised up and laid a heavy smack across his husband’s face. The sound of the impact was deafening, a thunderclap louder than anything he’s ever heard, amplified by the air of silence permeating the apartment.

Steve recoiled, bringing a hand to shield where he’d been struck, still feeling the sting lingering in the seconds after.

Softer now, Tony’s hands raised up, one resting on his shoulder, the other curling around his wrist, breathing shakily. “Oh… oh, god, Steve, I’m… I didn’t _mean_ to…” 

“You were angry,” Steve said, his voice that of a broken man. “I deserved it.”

Tears were forming in Tony’s eyes, and he hated himself for that — he hated himself more for hitting his husband, but he let down his barriers to turn the whole situation into a party of self-pity. “Please stop playing the martyr,” he said, voice returned to the quiet one it had been before, but he was standing so close to Steve, even though he didn’t deserve to, that he could just barely be made out. “You— _nobody_ deserves it. I’m so, so, so sorry, Steve. Please forgive me. Please.”

“I do,” he said, not once recoiling at Tony’s touch against his skin. Tony leaned forward, forehead pressing against his husband’s chest, and his arms fell limp to his sides. Steve took the initiative to wrap his strong, warm arms around him for support. “Please don’t cry.”

Easier said than done. The waterworks were starting, he could feel the churning in his stomach and the stinging in his eyes, but he was actively trying to force them back, steeling his resolve, cursing himself on the inside. “What happened to us, Steve?” he asked, voice cracking under the pressure from the tears.

Steve’s chest rose and fell, a comforting motion to Tony, and the arms holding him tightly gave him a sense of security, but the first tear broke free, and he openly sobbed. “I don’t know,” Steve answered shortly, running a hand through his husband’s hair. “But we’re going to be okay.”

“…You don’t know that.” The words were spoken into Steve’s shirt, muffled even more on top of the already strained voice. 

“I do,” he repeated, and one arm slid down to Tony’s tailbone, hoisting him up. Instinctively, Tony wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist, and he allowed himself to be carried to the bedroom. The slap seemed to have steeled Steve’s reflexes, only once veering off course in the stretch of slippery floor to reach their shelter. 

When they arrived, he lay Tony on his side of the bed, and stepped back. “Do you want me to go?” he asked quietly. “Just—just for tonight. To give you some space.”

Tony had curled up into a ball, weighed upon heavily by his actions and the consequences that never came — he was always his own biggest critic. “I don’t know what I’ll do with myself if you go.” He sounded pathetic, horribly upset. “Please don’t leave me alone tonight.”

How fast roles reversed and situations changed, but Steve knew deep down he was still the problem here. It hadn’t been provoked, and he wasn’t ignoring the smack, but he’d been the one to go drinking. If anything, he’d gotten off easy. Had Tony not let all of his rage out in the one act of violence, they would have split up. They would have fought so much longer than they did. He’d be filing divorce papers in the morning. 

No, he hadn’t deserved to be hit. Nor did he think Tony had meant to do it, and he knew he would beat himself up over it for days. But it was ultimately better than the alternative, and he could find it in his heart to forgive him. 

He started to strip down, pulling off his shirt and the trousers he’d been wearing, before allowing himself to climb into bed, crawling over Tony and sliding under the covers. His husband turned over, pulling himself closer, linking their bodies together. They had spooned the night before, but even that had felt distant compared to this. Their heads were just inches apart, their legs tangled in a heap, arms wrapped around one another.

Steve was close enough to see the tears still falling, and he tilted his mouth forward to kiss them away. “Don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it,” he said softly. 

“Don’t,” Steve insisted, kissing the corner of his mouth now. The most physical affection they’d felt in days, weeks maybe, but even still it felt stilted. “Please. For me.” 

Tony sniffed. “It’s because of you.” He paused, eyes flicking around the face of the man across from him, settling finally on his gaze. “Are we going to break up?”

“I dunno,” Steve whispered back, bringing a hand to brush through Tony’s hair. “You tell me.” 

He went quiet, contemplative. The sounds of the kitchen diminished behind the door, leaving them in the total silence of the bedroom. The only source of light entering came from the sky outside the window, behind the bed, a stream of moonlight encasing them in the soft, white glow. “You got _drunk_.”

“You hit me.” It wasn’t accusatory, it was just stating a fact. 

His face fell, and Tony’s eyes averted downwards, trying to hide his shame. “I’m so sorry,” he hushed, lower jaw shaking, gripping more tightly to Steve’s back. 

Steve tightened his hold around him, hugging him close. “I’m sorry too. Forgiven?”

“…No.” The word struck harder than the hand had. “I’m sorry.” 

Despite it, he didn’t let go, he only clung more tightly. Somewhere, deep down, his conscience assured him that if he held long enough, tight enough, he would never lose Tony. “Well, I forgive you,” he said, again not trying to sound bitter or accusatory, simply telling the truth. “And… and if you’ll have me, Tony, if you’ll let me stay with you, I’m going to find a way to make it up to you.”

Tony exhaled, their breath mingling. “You taste like a Screwdriver.”

“ _I’m sorry_.” 

He closed his eyes, shaking his head into the pillow. “I miss it, you know? Every day without drinking… I miss it a little bit more,” he murmured. “And you? You were my rock. You were the reason I stopped in the first place. You… you raised me out of darkness. You were my knight in shining armour.” His hand grazed over Steve’s neck, gingerly applying pressure from the tips of his digits. “And now what are you? No better than I was.”

“I made a mistake,” he whispered back, closing his eyes and licking his lips. “It was—it was a stupid mistake. I had nowhere else to go.” 

“You sound like me,” Tony answered, brushing their lips together but not quite kissing him. “You sound pathetic. You’re better than that, Steve. You always have been. Always will be.”

Steve formed the kiss, as passionate as he could muster. It had been too long since he’d kissed Tony like this, purely emotion and wanting. “So are you,” he said. “Don’t ever forget that. I love you. More than anything, anyone, ever.” 

“Once this is all over,” Tony reasoned, “once you _win,_ it’s only going to get worse, isn’t it? You’re… you’re never going to be home. I’m never going to get to see you. And I’m going to have to learn to deal with that, aren’t I?”

“Maybe. I don’t—I don’t know, really. I don’t know what it’s going to be like. But I want… I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I made that promise. I told you, through everything, I would be there for you. And I am. And I will be.” His breath escaped shakily, biting on his bottom lip. “I love you, Tony. Please tell me you love me, too.”

Tony exhaled lightly, and it was a good minute before he spoke again. Steve didn’t press him to speak, he didn’t want to force an answer. He knew what he felt, and he could only guess at what Tony felt, but something told him he already knew what he was going to say.

It wasn’t easy — it never was, and it never would be. Steve Rogers wasn’t the sort of man to expect miracles, and frankly didn’t believe in them. He believed in hard work, dedication, _atonement_. A marriage took work, more work than he anticipated, but he wasn’t the type to shy away from piling more onto his plate. Why else would he have agreed to campaign in the first place? He wanted to help people. More than anything, he wanted to help people. 

Even if it meant setting aside his own happiness to achieve it.

All that had changed, though, since getting married. His world had changed so drastically, despite everything on the surface remaining placidly the same. His own happiness didn’t matter so much anymore, at least not compared to Tony’s happiness. Fortunately for him, his own happiness correlated directly with Tony’s.

“I love you, Steve.”

It wasn’t going to be perfect. Steve didn’t want a perfect marriage. He just wanted a happy one.

And he knew, that at the end of the day, he was going to be happy again. It wouldn’t happen overnight. It wouldn’t happen abruptly, it would be a gradual shift, a change in attitudes and demeanour, but he knew it would happen someday. And it was all going to be because of him.

 

_fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and support on this. I really appreciate every kudos and every email notification I get regarding this little story here. This seemed like the most appropriate ending for it: not everything is perfect, not everything is wrapped up, but it was a natural conclusion for an imperfect marriage. Usually I'm actually not the biggest Tony/Steve shipper, but writing this changed my worldview a bit. I don't want to say 'I guarantee more Stony in the future', but I'm not ruling it out, either. If you'd like to request a prompt, feel free to leave a comment, or hit up my tumblr account (newmutant), and I'll gladly write anything requested of me. I have crazy amounts of time and energy to write, and the more ideas I have, the happier I am!


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